


Hand on my hair

by saltandlimes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandlimes/pseuds/saltandlimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds a new way to release tension after the events of "Everybody Loves a Clown." This is porn, people, pure, unabashed porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand on my hair

The first time it happens, Dean has just finished smashing the shit out of the car. He's been standing outside panting in the sun, crowbar lying where he dropped it. His chest heaves a little, passion pent up inside him, so tight in his chest he can't really think. 

He barely makes it through what little dinner Sam's managed to pull together, banging around in Bobby's kitchen. Sam insists they both eat something, sweating a little in the kitchen as Bobby putters around in the library, trying to give them just a little bit of space. 

After dinner, Dean grabs a beer, heads up the room that he and Sam share. They've slept there for years, all those times as children before Bobby pulled out a shotgun, couldn't deal with John anymore, couldn't handle how broken they all were. Now Sam and he have slid back into their familiar beds, singles that don't fit Sam's long frame. He slumps down on his bed, beer held loosely in his hand, trying not to think.

Its better when he tries to think about something else, to buy a few moments of release from reality. Then he doesn't have to wonder, to ask why the Colt is gone, why a man, walking and talking, is dead and burned while Dean walks on Earth. So he pours the rest of the beer down his throat, shucks off his shirt. 

The magazines are still there, stashed under his mattress for years. The pages are a little bent and wrinkled, kept long past the date they were supposed to find a new home in a landfill. But that doesn't really bother Dean, hopped up on rage, hate, everything like he is right now. He's never really needed much in the way of visual stimulation anyway, just his own right hand and imagination have been good enough so many times before that the magazines are a bit of a luxury. But right now, he needs everything he can get, every bit of him occupied with something else. 

And so he shoves off his jeans, lies naked on the bed with his legs splayed open, magazine held up in front of him. It doesn't take him long to get hard, light touches over his cock as he stares at the photographs. They're really not that good, thick cock sliding into some girl's wet mouth. But Dean knows that she'd not keeping her teeth quite covered enough, that her mouth isn't quite big enough for this to be as good as it can be.

Even the tits aren't really doing it for him right now. The soft curve of the dip in a girl's waist is too far away from where he is. He's trapped in this world, men around him hard as nails, breaking under the strain, breaking like he's going to break. Too much pressure, always too much. And how can he take care of Sam if...

Dean grunts, tugging harder at his cock, pushing those words out of his head. But it still isn't enough, not quite distracting him like he thought it would. 

“Dean?” Its Sam's voice, drifting through the doorway where he's standing, staring down at Dean. And Dean's suddenly aware of how he must look, spread out on the bed, legs splayed open, hard cock all on display. And Sam's just staring down at him, bottom lip clamped firmly between his teeth. Sam stutters a little, swallowing hard. 

And suddenly its more than enough. He's got Sam right where he can see him, can know that his little brother is alright. And he's got Sam right there by him, love pouring down, though a little choked by an odd light in Sam's eyes. And he knows he should be stopping, slow stroke of his hand still going all this time, as he stares at Sam. 

“Ah...” Sam makes a motion to leave. “I'll just go then...” and he turns to walk back down the stairs. Dean feels something inside him clench, worry flooding back with the beginning of Sam's shuffle away. 

“Can you...” Dean's voice catches in his throat, shocked already at what he's going to ask. “Can you just... stay for a while?” And its thrumming in the place just under his ribs, tugging at him to arch a little off the bed. 

Sam licks his lips as he turns back, that odd fire stronger now. He smiles down and Dean and Dean knows. Knows that Sam gets it, that Dean just can't... can't be alone right now, needs the distraction, Sam there, the low hum of pleasure through his body. Sam's nodding, slipping onto the bed with a little bit of a sigh, still staring at Dean's... chest? Dean isn't really sure where Sam is staring, only that its making little sparks of pleasure rush through him. 

Now Sam's sitting next to Dean, not saying anything about the ancient magazines lying beside Dean. Dean smiles up at Sam a little, trying for his cocky smirk, the one that's gotten into so much trouble before (and out of it too.) But it doesn't come out quite right, too strung out on the clothesline thats holding Dean together, pins pinching him at the top and bottom.

But now that Sam's there, at least his cock twitches as he strokes across it, not distracted by anything else. Dean rubs underneath the head, quick little circles that have him gasping and arching a little, face just brushing the side of Sam's arm. Sam starts a bit, breathing quickening as Dean's does. 

Then the sensation gets to be too much and Dean goes back to quick slides from root to tip, thumbing across the slit at the top. Beside him, Sam shifts a little on the bed, breathing still erratic. Dean twists his head to the side. He can't see Sam's face like this, laid out across the bed underneath his little brother. (And if his cock twitches a little more at that, well, Dean knows its just because he found a particularly sensitive spot.) All he can see of Sam, though, are his brother's long legs, stretched out next to him, and his brother's arms. The hand nearest to Dean's face is gripping the sheets, pulling them up just a bit to twist in between Sam's long fingers. The other hand, though, is pressed against Sam's groin, pressing down as Sam's hips make little hitching motions, trying to grind upward against something that isn't really there. 

Dean groans, deep in his throat. That's something that's always been good, watching someone else get wet (or hard) because of something Dean's doing. And now, Sam, always in control, so much better than Dean is, is whimpering just a little as Dean reaches up to pinch his own nipple. He rolls the tight bud between his fingers, tugging at it. Sam makes another short sound as Dean sucks his fingers into his mouth, soaking them.

And this isn't really what he meant to happen when he asked Sam to stay. Didn't mean to be sitting here, putting on a live porn show for his younger brother. But the way Sam's hips are grinding up now, pushing at the hand that has to squeezing at Sam's cock, makes Dean need this too badly.

So he trails his fingers back down from his mouth, still sopping wet. He's got them pressed up behind his balls before he looks back at Sam. And Sam's hand is tensing and releasing on the covers next to him, just as Sam pops the buttons on his jeans, reaches inside to stroke himself a little. And he's not leaving, hasn't realized how wrong this is, how wrong its always been. Dean almost breaths a sigh of relief, but he's got two fingers inside himself now and is panting too hard to think about a sigh.

“Fuck, Dean...” Sam's almost moaning at him, tugging at his own cock, boxers not even down. Dean can see it, thick near his face. And it isn't that he doesn't know what Sam's dick looks like. He's seen is for years, sometimes hard in the mornings, sometimes after a shower, even, on a few memorable occasions, pumping into some girl when they were younger, before everything got so complicated. 

But Dean's never seen Sam hard when he's got two fingers shoved up inside himself, pressing at his prostate. He's never seen Sam hard, moaning, because of the precome that's leading from Dean's dick, getting smeared across his shaft. And now its almost too much, too right, dirty, perfect, making his balls draw up against him, back arching a little. And Sam's making more noise now, little choked sounds that are like he wants to say something, won't let himself.

Then, as Dean starts to turn his face away from Sam, to let the waves of pleasure wash over him when he's not nose to dick with his brother, Sam lets out a bit of a growl. And he's yanking Dean's head back to face him, fingers curled in the short hair at the back of Dean's scalp. 

Dean can feel himself arching up, pleasure washing across him as pain sparks down from the place where Sam's still yanking at his hair, pulling Dean's head back to expose his neck. And Dean's coming, thready hold on the world collapsing as he fucks himself back on his own fingers. He's staring at Sam's cock, can't stop himself from thinking what it would feel like with something like that – with Sam's dick – inside him instead of the fingers. And that makes his dick pulse even harder, white strings of come painting across his chest.

Sam growls again, hand coming from behind Dean's head as Dean relaxes down to the bed, boneless. Sam's tracing one finger down Dean's chest. And then, and then he's dipping the finger into the come painting across Dean's pecs. Dean can't help giving a little moan, seeing his come paint his brother's fingers.

Now Sam's smearing Dean's come across his own hard cock, tugging it just a few more times before he's shooting onto his own stomach. And he doesn't have to hold Dean's face in place now, Dean's just there staring, entranced as his brother's dick lets out little shudder pulses of come against Sam's perfectly tanned stomach. 

Then Sam's reaching over to the side table, grabbing the washcloth Dean put there what feels like hours ago. Sam's scrubbing at his own belly, then sliding his jeans off and squirming down to lie, almost naked, underneath the covers. He tosses the washcloth to Dean, a little bit of a smile on his face. 

When Dean's clean he slides under the covers too, feels Sam roll over to curl about him like they did when they were kids. Its warm, and Sam, and Dean doesn't really feel as worried anymore.

Maybe they'll talk about this in the morning. But Dean really doesn't have the energy to care right now, mind blowing orgasm and the smell of Sam all about making him boneless and lethargic on the mattress. Then Sam nuzzles into the short hair at the back of Dean's neck and Dean even stops the little bit of worrying he's still doing. Maybe they'll talk about it in the morning, but maybe not. Now though, its time to sleep, safe inside Sam's arms.


End file.
